


maybe a bit of self control would be the route

by CurriedSugar



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Isaac Beamer Versus the Supernatural (Undertale), Disordered Eating, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by Music, Kinda, Mentions of Starvation, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Writing Exercise, graphic depictions of self harm, it's more of a warmup than anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26333095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurriedSugar/pseuds/CurriedSugar
Summary: Old habits die hard.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	maybe a bit of self control would be the route

**Author's Note:**

> Now, technically you _could_ read this as a second part of my last fic, but I wrote this intending for it to be a standalone.
> 
> The song in this fic is Coffee, by Jack Stauber! I highly recommend you give his music a listen, I started listening to him recently and I love it!!

**Do I need it?**

**Oh god**

**Am I under control?**

**Can I beat it?**

Chris stared at the razor blades on the shelf, his hands twitching, almost as if in some sort of sick anticipation. Damned drugstore, putting the razor blades right next to the painkillers, which was what he came here for!

And it didn’t help that Nevin made Chris promise to try and stop cutting himself. Along with taking his razor blades, and anything else in his bedroom that could have been used to cut himself. 

The thoughts kept racing through his head all throughout the day, each and every day, and the urge to cut grew and grew. Hell, he couldn’t even look at a knife without wanting to use it to cover every inch of his body with cuts.

He wanted to stop cutting, for Nevin at least, but he didn’t know if he _could_ stop.

**Wake up**

**If it swallowed me whole, would I see it?**

**_I can make you feel alive!_ **

**I know, but do I need you to survive?**

Chris turned around, staring at the face cleansers and acne products. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need it. He could survive without cutting himself.

But oh, how alive he felt when he cut himself. The coldness of the metal razor sent a wave of calmness over him when he held in his hand, and the _pain._ Oh, God, the pain. It hurt so much, but somehow, it was numbing at the same time. 

It made him feel more alive than anything in the world.

Chris dug his nails into his arm, before grabbing a pack of razors and heading to the checkout counter.

**_Just a sip!_ **

**Does it matter which one?**

**_Just a drip!_ **

**Am I dumbfounded when I slip?**

He’d tried other forms of self-harm, that he’d found online, to see if that would push the thoughts of killing himself out of his head.

Scratching his arms and legs didn’t seem to satisfy his hunger for pain. It hurt, yes, but only for a little bit, and there was never any blood.

It took Chris too much time to burn himself; he usually did it over the stove when he was home alone, and he didn’t smoke, and he didn’t personally know anyone his age who smoked either. And God forbid that Xavier found out that one of his lighters went missing.

He’d read a few stories about people who deliberately starved themselves in self-harm attempts, and so he gave that a shot, despite being skeptical. Chris couldn’t do it for more than half a day, he found out; he collapsed right in front of the school as he was leaving that day. Isaac had to splash some water in his face to get him to regain consciousness.

Cutting was the only thing that seemed to push away the suicidal thoughts.

It dumbfounded him at first, when he first started self-harming, but as time went on, he grew to come to accept it.

**_You can’t believe_ **

**I can’t believe**

**_You can’t believe_ **

**I can’t believe**

**_You can’t believe_ **

**I can’t believe this happened**

He put the painkillers in the bathroom and headed to his own room, hiding the razor blades in a shoebox in his closet, which he then hid under some of his jackets. He shut the closet door and flopped on his bed, turning on some music, which he listened to silently, however he couldn’t draw his eyes away from his closet door.

**_You want to slit your fucking wrists. You want to watch the blood gush out of you as you lift the razor up to your throat and cut a huge gash in it, and look at all the blood on the floor as your life slowly slips away._ **

Chris gasped sharply, squeezing his eyes shut. The thoughts were back. And this time, they were growing more and more intense.

**_Go on! Do it! You know you want to do it! You’re alone, nobody would stop you!_ **

His hands balled into tight fists. He wanted to cut himself so bad. So, so bad. 

But what if he ended up committing suicide?

**Wow!**

**French vanilla, I think I should sit this one out**

**No, no, no**

**Maybe a cup of self control would be the route**

Chris dug his nails into his skin and scratched at his arms. Some scabs tore off and began to bleed, the blood trickling down his arms.

He shouldn’t cut himself. He really, really shouldn’t. He originally started hurting himself as a way to keep the thoughts of suicide at bay, and to prevent himself from committing suicide. But what if he went right for his wrists when he picked up the razor blade? And then after that, his neck, where the blood would really pour out, and stain his bedroom carpet?

Sure, Xavier would probably be happy that he was dead and gone. But Nevin would be torn, and so would all his friends... 

Oh, but the thought of cutting, it was so intoxicating… it was a unhealthy habit, but he’d gone so long without doing it, the urge was almost killing him! He had to cut himself, he just had to…

**_But it’s the flavor, it’s the flavor you want!_ **

**Maybe so, but it’s better to check than to reflect**

**Oh**

Chris’ mind went numb, almost, as he paused his music and headed over to the closet, digging out the box and getting the razor blades, feeling the lovely coldness of the metal blade in his hand, and breathing in the sharp, metallic smell of his own blood as it trickled from the many, many brand-new cuts that now littered his pale arms, a few drops splattering onto the floor as he did.

He dropped the razor, staring at the cuts, blinking slowly and silently.

“This is it,” Chris said aloud, to nobody in particular. “This is the very last time I’ll cut myself. After this, I’ll stop.”


End file.
